


Heard

by silver_fish



Series: whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Nightmares, Whumptober 2020, both those tags are only implied not explicitly mentioned, mention of drugs also but again very brief, mute character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26539078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_fish/pseuds/silver_fish
Summary: Aisling doesn’tknowwhat those kids went through before she got them away from Saoirse. And the way Nisa is looking at her right now, she doesn’t really think shewantsto.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Female Character
Series: whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929817
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Heard

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/laphicets) / [tumblr](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)
> 
> new kids new kids!! this is the first bit of writing i've done for these ocs, but there's some information on them [here](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com/post/627985391251783680/ok-so-ive-been-sittingplottingplanningfor) if you're interested! the setting of this story is a celtic mythology-inspired seafaring adventure. nisa is the main character, actually, but it made more sense to write this particular piece from aisling's pov. this would be, i think, very early on in the story, before all that found family stuff Really sets in, but ! i hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

Aisling doesn’t know why she opens the door.

Maybe she just wants to see if it’s locked, because, she thinks, if it were _her_ sleeping in there, she would have locked it. Especially knowing she was sleeping around a bunch of pillaging criminals. It’s the _sensible_ thing to do. Granted, neither of these girls seems overly sensible at all, so it’s not really such a surprise when the door opens up under her touch.

What is a surprise is the figure sitting up in the bottom bunk, hunched over, the sound of—sniffling? Crying? But it is light, very light, the way Aisling thinks she used to cry when _she_ was sixteen.

It’s been a long time since then, she can admit. A long time, too, since she cried about something at all. What was the point, if there was nobody there to comfort her? It made her stronger. It was a _good_ thing.

Iona is still sleeping, snoring away lightly, contentedly, and Nisa…

She hasn’t seen her. Hasn’t heard her. It is, after all, something she’s trained herself to do, this act of stealth. But as she turns, halfway out the door to get to her _own_ bed, something stops her.

Nisa’s sobs are subdued, very quiet, but they are the loudest sound she has ever heard the girl make. It doesn’t sound right, either, not exactly, but…it’s there. All this time, Aisling has never really stopped to wonder _why_ Nisa can’t speak; it is simply an inconvenience that she doesn’t, an extra step it takes to communicate with her.

But that’s what Iona is for. It doesn’t matter.

Except…

“Dammit,” she mutters, and, when she turns around, Nisa’s head has shot up. Her brown eyes are wide and fearful; she holds her hands up in front of her, leaning back, trembling.

“Calm down, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Her shaking hands are moving very fast, suddenly, signing, but Aisling just sighs.

“You know I don’t understand that shit, Nisa.”

She stops, hands curling in on themselves, and closes her eyes. For a moment, Aisling thinks to turn and leave— _really_ leave, this time—but then she’s opening her eyes again, hands moving slower, the same word, the only one Aisling bothered to learn, over and over again:

_Help._

Aisling takes in a deep, shuddering breath. “All right, all right, I hear you. Look, just— Can you stand? Put your shoes on.”

Nisa just stares up at her for a moment, eyes wide. Finally, slowly, she blinks, then nods her head and rises. She pushes a foot underneath her bunk and slides her shoes out, slipping them on before turning to Aisling expectantly.

But what does she _expect_?

Aisling shakes her head. She turns and leaves the room, not bothering to glance back to ensure Nisa is following her. She must be, though, because once they are out, she hears the door click shut softly behind them. She leads the way around deck, until they come to her own quarters, and, before she can change her mind, she opens the door to let Nisa inside.

But Nisa doesn’t look around or anything the way Aisling expected her to. There is no sense of wonderment on her face, nothing but a horrible exhaustion, fear, red-rimmed eyes still shining with tears…

Aisling closes the door. “Sit down, then.”

She does, and Aisling riffles through her drawers for a pen and paper, but a movement out of the corner of her eye catches her attention before she can pull something out. It’s Nisa’s hands again, moving so _fast_ , as if Aisling could ever keep up even if she _did_ know what she was saying.

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her task, finally snatching up the damn things. She slams them down on the table in front of Nisa and then comes around to sit across from her.

“Well? Write it down, then. I’m never going to understand otherwise.”

Nisa makes a face at her, but she grabs the pen and starts writing anyway. Finally—with a little more force than Aisling thinks is _really_ necessary—she spins the paper around again.

_I don’t want to have to write everything out._

Aisling scowls. “What’s it matter to me what you _want_? You oughta be grateful I’m willing to hear you out at all.”

A mulish pause, and then she takes the paper back. This time, she spends more time writing, seeming to really think about what it is she’s putting down. _Good_ , Aisling thinks, _it’ll do her some good to use her head for once._

She leans forward as Nisa lays the pen down, turning the paper towards her.

_You didn’t have to ask me to come with you. I’m fine now. Nothing’s wrong, and it’s nothing to do with Nehalennia either, so why should you care?_

There’s a splatter of ink on the dot of the question mark, like she was pressing the pen down too hard or something.

Aisling glances up at her, eyebrow raised, but she’s turned away, nose up, arms crossed over her chest. Typical.

“Sorry for wanting to make sure you were okay, then.” She shrugs and leans back, mirroring Nisa’s posture. “It’s not like I give a shit whether or not you talk to me. Maybe I just thought you’d like the option.”

Nisa sits there for a moment, still as stone, and then she is moving very fast, taking the paper back and scribbling furiously. Aisling watches her, blinking, but it doesn’t take her long to get everything down on the page:

_I didn’t leave home just to be treated the same way I always was so I’m sorry you think I’m your responsibility but I don’t want your help if you can’t be nice._

“Are you kidding me?”

Nisa won’t look at her, though.

“Look, Nisa—” She stops, pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “I’m not _trying_ to be the asshole here. It’s not Nehalennia, whatever. I kind of assumed that already. You’re—what? Homesick? Pissed off at Iona for something? Had a bad dream?”

At that last one, she turns around, and Aisling’s breath catches in her throat, but she gives a quick cough and pushes the feeling aside.

“That’s it? Bad dream?”

Nisa nods.

“Great. I have ‘em too sometimes. They suck, right?”

Nisa’s eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Well, you don’t _have_ to tell me. I’ll try to be nice, whatever. I just won’t get it if you don’t write it _down_.”

Hesitantly, she reaches for the paper and pen again. For a long moment, she only stares at the blank space below what she wrote before, but then she pushes the tip of the pen down and begins to write—slowly, stopping every second word or so. Aisling can do nothing but watch and wait, but—

When, finally, Nisa lifts her head again, the feeling comes rushing back over her, a cold tide that threatens to pull her down into its eternal embrace. Aisling doesn’t _know_ what those kids went through before she got them away from Saoirse.

And the way Nisa is looking at her right now, she doesn’t really think she _wants_ to.

But she takes the paper anyway, even as she sees how shaky Nisa’s hand has grown over the course of her writing. It’s still such a neat script, though, the practiced letters of someone who has spent her life with no other way to communicate.

_Before I met Iona, my father had just died. He always made me write too, but it was better than nothing. He was trying. My mother, though, she took things I wrote and tore them up, or burned them. Said if I couldn’t talk, then I didn’t deserve to be heard. I think she killed him because of me. I think she poisoned him because he wouldn’t let her kick me out sooner because she hated me so much she couldn’t stand living with me and he was the only reason she still was. But he’s dead now. It’s my fault._

Aisling blinks up at her. Her head is bowed, long hair a wavy curtain obscuring her face.

“And then Saoirse…”

With trembling fingers, Nisa takes the paper again. She writes only one sentence:

_She made me feel worth something._

“How?

Her hand visibly clenches around the pen, even as she writes, _Gave my body a purpose other than speaking._

“Drugs,” Aisling says slowly. “Right?”

A long pause. She sees a tear fall, hit the paper, smudge the ink, and then Nisa flips it over to write on the back instead.

_Other things too._

Her chest aches. “Men?”

Nisa nods. She still won’t look up. The hand holding the pen shakes violently.

“That’s…not right.” Aisling stops, fishing for the words, and then tries: “You’re not— Your worth isn’t defined by how much you can sell to people, or _what_ you can sell to them. It’s more than being able to speak or anything too. It’s just, I dunno, something you _have_. Saoirse couldn’t have given that to you, ‘cause you already _had_ it.”

Nisa shakes her head.

“Don’t do that shit with me, Nisa.” Aisling grabs the paper and crumples it up, tossing it aside. “Damn that vile woman. Forget about her. We don’t have to be best friends, but I wouldn’t let anyone in my crew do that to you. It’s not right.”

Nisa glances up helplessly, and Aisling grits her teeth, refusing to look away even though it _hurts_ , damn it hurts, like all of Nisa’s pain is just there, reflecting off her eyes to Aisling in blinding rays of miserable light.

“So your mother was shitty. And Saoirse did— _that_ to you. You’re here now, and that’s behind us. Crying about it won’t help.”

Nisa lifts her hands, tries to sign very quickly again, and Aisling curses, hastening to the drawer to replace the paper. Nisa drops her hands with a soft sigh, but she doesn’t hesitate to start writing this time.

_How is it behind me if I still dream about it?_

Aisling slams the drawer shut and then settles back in her chair properly to read the words a second time, and then a third, trying to think—

It’s _not_ behind her, is it? That's sort of the whole damn point.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she finally says. “That’s some pretty heavy stuff. Maybe you’ll never stop dreaming about it.”

Nisa screws her eyes shut tight, ducking her head.

“But,” Aisling continues, “I guess it doesn’t hurt to talk about. Write about,” she amends, after a moment. “It’s a little slow, but whatever. You can still share.”

A deep breath, like she’s preparing herself for something, and then she writes—

_You could learn to sign._

Aisling laughs. “Yeah, right, kid. If I was that concerned about it, I’d just ask Iona to come translate.”

She stops, seeming to consider this, but Aisling can’t help being surprised by what’s on the paper when she turns it again:

_Don’t tell her about tonight. Please._

“I thought you two talked about everything.”

_She worries too much._

“Don’tcha think she has a right to worry? I mean, if she knows you went through all that.”

_She needs to worry about herself too._

Aisling looks up, lips pursed, but can’t bring herself to argue. Nisa’s exhaustion is obvious, from the heavy pull of gravity against her shoulders to her drooping eyelids, the fine trembling she thinks Aisling can’t actually _see_.

“All right,” she says. “I won’t say anything.”

She signs something, which Aisling would like to imagine is “Thank you.”

“Let’s get you back to bed, then.” She stands, then stops and waits for Nisa to do the same. Once she does, they head out, slower than before, in order to match Nisa’s pace. By the time they’re back to her door, Aisling still has no idea what to say.

Nisa just opens it and steps inside, though. She glances back, makes the same sign as before, and then moves to shut herself in, but—

Aisling leans forward and grabs the edge of the door, meeting shocked brown eyes, still so full of all her _pain_ …

“Good night,” Aisling manages. “Good night, Nisa.”

Nisa watches her for a moment as her hand slips away, but then she smiles. Makes another sign, different from the last one, and…

The door closes, and Aisling is alone.

She stares at it, heart beating fast, and then shakes herself. It doesn’t matter, she thinks. Nisa is only her responsibility in the sense that she needs her to find Nehalennia, and so she will have to take care of her until they do.

But when she turns and walks away, ears still roaring, she cannot help thinking—her vengeance on Saoirse was already going to be sweet, but _this_ , what she’s done to Nisa…that will only make it sweeter.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated! xx
> 
> if you're interested in learning more about my original works and characters, i post a lot about them on twitter [@laphicets](https://twitter.com/laphicets) and tumblr [@kohakhearts](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)! feel free to find me for general writing updates too; i also sometimes take fic requests on both platforms!


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